


juice!

by supremekermit



Series: Summertime [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, M/M, Pining, beach summer trip, lip gloss as a plot device, side Norenmin, side markwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supremekermit/pseuds/supremekermit
Summary: the kiss wasn’t supposed to happen. he should have left the car, ditched mark in the heat to hang off renjun’s shoulders and bask in the glory of commercialized americana. but no, he was glued to the seat.there were a number of factors at play: the boiling weather, his fear of chapped lips, mark’s puppy eyes that flashed when donghyuck’s hand hovered over the door handle. but donghyuck knows that if there’s anything to blame, it’s his bubbling, melting crush on a boy he thought would never love him back.alternatively, mark is an idiot and donghyuck is in love.





	juice!

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to [cherry lips poppin'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018572)
> 
> warnings: they're teenage boys so crude language and mentions of dry heaving ahead!

Memories are a weird thing. Donghyuck can barely remember what he ate for breakfast and he's made it to his tenth password retrieval email for club penguin—but he can pinpoint the exact moment in time he fell, tipping over the metaphorical cliff, for Mark Lee.

It’s the tail end of the summer before sophomore year, just as the heat wave was beginning to die down and Donghyuck could wake up in the morning without his shirt matted to his back. Mark had just returned from his annual pilgrimage to nerd camp, or wherever it is that weirdos like Mark gather to talk big numbers and solve hieroglyphics.

But no one told Donghyuck that nerd camp is also a synonym for “where awkward teenage boys go to glow up” because Mark Lee, in all his five feet something of sweaty youth and squeaky voice, comes back with golden skin and a jaw that could cut glass, and a voice that sometimes pitches low and dark when he calls donghyuck’s name.

“Whatchu starin’ at? Is there something on my face?” Mark had asked, eyes wide over his tall milkshake glasses.

They’re seated in a diner booth, table piled high with summer homework left to the last minute. Donghyuck hides his blush behind a deck of flashcards.

“Yeah, uh, some cream on your cheek,” he mutters. There’s not a speck on Mark’s face.

Frowning, Mark reaches up to wipe the imaginary spot away, but Donghyuck’s hand beats him to the punch, thumb swiping away at the corner of Mark’s mouth. In an afterthought, he brings his thumb his lips, tongue darting out to lick away air. “There.”

Mark just wrinkles his nose and turns his head back to the textbook. “Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Donghyuck says but he doesn’t mean it. Because right there, in that moment, is where Donghyuck toes the edge of the cliff, pebbles falling away under his feet. There’s no view, no sweeping canyons or sloping valleys. Just a boy and an abyss, waiting to grab him by the ankle and toss him into the unknown.

So when Mark looks up again, eyes squinted through his new glasses, and asks in that gravel voice, “Hey, can I copy your essay on Buddhism? I’d rather drink Jaemin’s jet fuel than try and paraphrase another Wikipedia page right now,” Donghyuck takes the dive.

The survival rate? Zero percent.

 

☆

 

“So what you’re saying is, you’re having Renjun’s babies,” Donghyuck says, flicking absentmindedly through a copy of cosmopolitan. He narrowly dodges Jaemin’s karate chop with a scowl. “Okay, okay, fine, you’re  _ dating _ Renjun.”

“Uh, yes? No? Maybe?” Jaemin chews his lips, licking away whatever layer of lip balm he’d slathered on before.

“ _ Maybe _ ?” Donghyuck lets the magazine fall open to a page ( _ Does He Feel the Same Way about YOU? Take This Quiz to Find Out!) _ and frees his hands to cup Jaemin’s face. “Do you even hear yourself? You made out behind the bleachers every other damn day? You text each other goodnight? He let  _ you _ see his bio notes— he didn’t even let me peek over his shoulders and I was his lab partner!”

“Tough luck,” Jaemin smirks, shaking his head away from Donghyuck’s grip. “And you’re wrong. It’s not that simple.”

Donghyuck fixes him with a withering stare. “You absolute fool.” He stretches his hand towards the shore below, where Renjun can be seen kicking at the tides, a wary hand holding his straw hat in place while the other pushed Mark towards the ocean. The saltwater seeps through the thin material of Mark’s shirt and Donghyuck swallows the lump in his throat.

Predictably, they haven’t talked about  _ it _ , the incident with a capital I that Donghyuck has fenced off in crime scene tape and slapped with a DO NOT PASS sign. In the two days that have passed since The Incident and Now, they’ve been a silent movie, sleeping in adjacent beds between the same four walls and avoiding eye contact at breakfast. It’s as much truth as it is an exaggeration, but the last time Donghyuck’s check, “pass me the salt” isn’t a conversation.

Out of the corner of Donghyuck’s white, a blur of white appears, knocking straight into Mark. It sends him, arms pinwheeling, straight into the water. Leaning over the boardwalk rail, Donghyuck walks as Jeno dunks Mark back into the water every time he attempts to get back up. The smile he shares with Renjun is blinding, like a shard of glass in the sand.

Donghyuck turns back to Jaemin, who looks at him with weariness and something akin to knowledge.  _ Talk about the pot calling the kettle black _ .

Donghyuck sits back down, picking up the magazine.  _ Question one: You catch him staring and stare back. How long he keep eye contact? A. Not even a split second B. Maybe a second or two? C. Definitely more than a few and he’s starting to blush… _

 

☆

 

In a school-wide poll conducted through a Google form and shared at least ten times on the Newspaper Club’s Facebook page by an overzealous Chenle Zhong, Mark had been crowned “Most Likely to Win a Nobel Prize” by a whopping 76 percent of the school population. To some (read: Jaemin), it was only because Jaemin had been snubbed from the category after an AP Lang catalyzed fall-out with the Editor-in-Chief, leading him instead to be awarded “Most Likely to Run a Ponzi Scheme” for his valiant efforts at mediation. The other 34 percent of votes belonged to Yukhei Wong, whose greatest claim to fame was coding a multimillion dollar app and also Not Actually Going To Their School.

So according to cold, hard statistics, Mark Lee was a genius.

But Donghyuck would like to clear the records because—

“You’re an  _ idiot _ !” Renjun screeches. He jabs his finger in the direction of the microwave and stares down a cowering Mark. “I can’t believe you just attempted to microwave  _ aluminum foil _ . Are you  _ trying _ to lose the deposit and kill us all?”

“Technically,” Donghyuck hears Mark mutter, from where he’s perched on a kitchen stool beside Jaemin, taking in the scene with a delight that can only be categorized as  _ schadenfreude.  _ “I was trying to microwave Halal Guys, not the aluminum foil.”

“Oh my god,” Renjun whips around, brandishing a shiny fork from god knows what crevice of the kitchen. “I’m gonna fucking kill you. I’m gonna kill you, and then get rescinded, and then fuck off to Antartica, but first,  _ I’m gonna fucking kill you _ !”

“Woah, easy there,” Jeno says, and he’s sliding in, plucking the fork from Renjun’s hand and dropping it into the sink. “Leave the killing to when you’re at Haas. And Mark, for real, how the hell did you even get into college?”

Mark shrugs, sheepish, and wrings his hands, eyes darting past Renjun’s bared teeth to meet Donghyuck’s eyes. Donghyuck looks away, the memories a weight on his tongue.

  
  


☆

 

He’d exited the browser window, and then in a fit, slammed his laptop close for good measure. There are tears in the corner of his eyes, waiting to be shed from days of pent up tension, only to be met with sore disappointment. Admission decisions delayed,  _ again _ .

“Fuck the filthy rich,” Donghyuck breathes through his mouth, hoping it will do something to quell the sob that’s about to wrack his chest.

In theory, Donghyuck understands that nothing about this process was fatalistic, nor predictable. His cousin Jaehyun had walked out of college admissions completely unscathed, face lit in a permanent smile for three months after early decisions because he’d finessed himself into a scholarship offer at the same college as his boyfriend, despite having turned in his application two minutes before the deadline.  _ Everything happens for a reason _ , his mom would say, petting his hair as he stole bits of freshly fried  _ jeon  _ off the plate.  _ Yeah _ , Jaehyun affirm from the kitchen table, his sweatshirt red and gold.

It’s difficult, though, to see what those reasons are when his night are colored in murky dreams of rejection and the tension in the halls offer no relief in the day.

His phone vibrated.

**_no.1 loser </3_ **

_ Should I bring over the champagne? :D _

**_baby sun!!!_ **

_ no :(( _

_ decisions aren’t coming out until next week _

_ i can’t believe i got blueballed by them AGAIN _

For emphasis, he’d sent a row of skull emojis.

What Donghyuck doesn’t remember is asking Mark to come over, but not an hour later, he heard shuffling from downstairs, a muffled _ “Hello Mark, have you had dinner? Oh yes, he should be upstairs, tell him to come down when you two are done!”  _ wedging its way through the flooring. Donghyuck sniffled, blinking rapidly, just as his door slammed open to reveal none other than Mark with a pie in his hand.

“Happy birthday, I’ve brought you a gift,” Mark announced, dropping onto the foot of Donghyuck’s bed.

“That’s my pie,” Donghyuck frowned, because it is. He’d bought it for Mark to celebrate his acceptance to the nerd school of his dreams a few days prior, and he couldn’t believe Mark hasn’t made a dent in it since.

“Exactly,” Mark rolled his eyes, maneuvering his leg to sit criss-cross on the bed. He dug out a pair of spoons from his bag, holding them out to donghyuck like an olive branch. “You bought me  _ your _ favorite pie. Knowing you, this was a set-up.”

Donghyuck couldn’t say he was innocent— after all, Mark doesn’t even like pie, a sacrilegious preference if Donghyuck had ever heard of one, and Donghyuck wasn’t one to pass up on an opportunity as timely as pie day. He did, however, make sure to jut his lips out and sniffle extra loud, maximizing his pity points to earn an arm around his shoulder and Mark spoon-feeding him through a godawful episode of Riverdale.

“What if,” he’d asked, voice barely audible over a horrendous rendition of Jailhouse Rock, “What if I get rejected?”

He held in a shiver as Mark’s hand slid down to Donghyuck’s, thumb rubbing circles against his skin. “Then you get rejected. Rain or shine, life goes on.”

A week later, Donghyuck opened his admissions portal to an explosion of confetti, pixels coloring his screen. His blood thumped through his veins like his stomach was about to bass drop, and when he’d Facetimed Mark, cheeks blotchy and eyes glassy, Mark had laugh in his face. “See? I told you, Hyuckie, rain or shine, life goes on. And you, well you’re the goddamn sun.”

 

☆

 

Once upon a time, at a sleepover, Donghyuck had suggested a game of The Floor is Lava. The ensuing night was spent jumping across throw pillows in Renjun’s basement, the five of them clinging to couches and swinging from shelves like Cirque du Soleil rejects. 

Now, it’s like they’re playing The Floor is Lava again. Except, the floor is  _ direct confrontation about whatever the hell that kiss was and when it could again? Maybe? _

Donghyuck rationalizes this as divine strategy. He’d even read about it on a discount milk carton once:  _ the supreme act of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.  _ It doesn’t matter if Mark looks like a kicked puppy when Donghyuck pointedly sits a yard from him down the shore, or if he silently picks out the green onion from Donghyuck’s bowl of pho because Donghyuck had forgotten to omit it from the order. As far as Donghyuck is concerned, he won’t be the first to cave.

But strategy and order fall away in the face of anarchy, and Jaemin Na was the type of person to drop a match after dousing the world in gasoline.

 

☆

 

“Truth or dare,” Jaemin announces. The empty bottle of beer in his hand smacks against wood as he stares pointedly at Jeno, who in turn stares pointedly at his hands. Renjun’s shoulders stiffen from where he’s scrolling through his phone.

Ah, so it was an intervention.

Summoning all the benevolence he can muster after a drowsy day in the sun, Donghyuck wriggles across the table, taking the bottle from Jaemin to plant it in the center. They’re sat on the patio, limbs sprawled over a set of outdoor couches and painted in a golden glow. The night was young, or as young as it could on Mark’s fake ID.

“Who wants to go first?” Donghyuck asks. Without a beat, “I’ll start.”

The bottle lands on Renjun, who sighs at Donghyuck like he’s doing him the biggest favor in the world by allowing himself to be prompted for his most embarrassing moment. “Last year, on the Disneyland trip,” he deadpans, though he’s biting back a grin. “When we were in line, I was so tired I thought the guy in front of me was Jaemin, so I smacked the back of his head.”

“I remember that,” Jaemin giggles over the laughter. “Should’ve seen the look on your face, you even pretended there was a bee on his head!”

Renjun rolls his eyes, cheeks pinking, but he gives the bottle another whirl. And so it goes, Mark, Jeno, Jaemin, Donghyuck, Renjun, Jeno, until Donghyuck’s taste buds have learnt the taste of soy sauce in soju, and consequently, bile. The night is a blur, passing in machspeed, then pivots to a stop as the bottle lands on a red-faced Jeno.

In retrospect, patience was never a virtue known to Jaemin Na.

“Truth or dare?” Jaemin asks, sweet as a southern belle.

Face flushed, Jeno leans forward, liquid courage loosening his limbs. “Dare,” he giggles.

“I dare you to kiss Renjun.”

And the smile is wiped straight from Jeno’s face, flattening his expression in barely contained shock. The murmurs of conversation die, and in that moment, even the cicadas seem to have fallen silent. All eyes shoot to Jeno as he staggers to his feet.

“I need to use the bathroom,” he blurts, not looking over to see Renjun’s stricken face, and wastes no time in scampering back inside. Renjun’s on his tail, calling out Jeno’s name, and a string of curses later, Jaemin jumps to his feet, running after them both--

Which of course, leaves Mark and Donghyuck to stare at each other over the table, the space between them littered in empty bottles and Donghyuck’s soy sauce-soju concoction.

At least the cicadas are back.

“Well,” Mark says, looking at Donghyuck like he’s one of his multivariable calculus problems. It’s miniscule, microscopic even, but the years have made Donghyuck fluent in Genius Teenage Boy. He doesn’t miss the way Mark worries his lips between his teeth nor the way his brows scrunch together, skin creasing, then at least, smoothing out like the surface of a placid lake. the lightbulb’s switched on.

“Well?”

Mark twist the neck of the bottle to face donghyuck. “truth or dare?”

_ Oh _ . “Truth.”

“Did you like the kiss?”

“It was mediocre at best,” Donghyuck lies, years of theater ironing out his voice despite his quickening pulse. “You kiss all your boys and girls like that?” he bats his eyes at Mark, trepidation flooding his veins when Mark stands up.

“You’re supposed to tell the truth, Donghyuck.” Mark’s leaning over him now, arms caging him in, close enough that Donghyuck can smell the alcohol on his breath. He inches closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And for the record, I think I gave you special treatment.:

Donghyuck wants to melt into the scratchy, polyester cushions and neve come back, but he squares his shoulders, narrows his eyes. “Oh yeah? Truth or dare?”

Mark won’t look away. “Dare.”

“Kiss me.” From this angle, the porch light cuts Mark in fragments, shadows drawing sharp lines against planes of skin. This is the same boy who’d cried when Donghyuck broke his crayons and taught Donghyuck kendama tricks on the playground. And now he’s here, looking down at Donghyuck like the portrait of a fizzy teenage dream.

Then he turns, planting a kiss right on Donghyuck’s cheek.

“It’s getting late,” Mark says, pulling back in nonchalance, like he hadn’t just titled Donghyuck’s world on its axis, shaking up tectonic plates and drawing fault lines in the crust. “I’m tired, I’m heading back in.”

And just like that, he spins on his feet, tossing a wave over his shoulder and disappearing through the screen door. Donghyuck’s left frozen in place, heat spreading through his face as his firsts curl in frustration. Stupid,  _ stupid _ Mark Lee.

 

☆

 

In junior year, Donghyuck had lived like a man counting down to the end. He’d stretched himself as far and thin as he could muster, an arm to extracurriculars and a leg to academics, sleeping five hours a day and even scheduling in time for heartbreak (“It’s not you,” Yangyang Liu had shrugged. “It’s me.”). Junior year, for better or for worse, was also the year Mark caught a crush on Jungwoo Kim, a cute senior with a gorgeous smile and the poll’s winner for “Cause of World Peace”.

“Don’t be stupid,” Donghyuck had told Mark when he let him tag along to rehearsals, pushing him down into the auditorium seats and dropping his bag beside him. “And don’t be embarrassing.”

Mark had waved him off, already looking over his shoulders for Jungwoo, who was perched at the edge of stage running through his lines. Scowling, Donghyuck retrieved his script and ambled off, making sure he slid right up in front of Jungwoo and conveniently blocked Mark’s view.

But no matter how much Donghyuck played bad cupid, Mark and Jungwoo drew to each other like the opposite ends of a magnet. Although Mark had insisted that he only tagged along for carpool purposes, he was also socially inept and therefore, possessed the most inconspicuous brand of subtlety Donghyuck had ever seen. Even an idiot could see his intentions as plain as day, and Jungwoo, well he got a perfect score on the SAT.

So really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Donghyuck when he’d stepped into the kitchen at the cast party on their last night of  _ A Midsummer Night's Dream _ , and found Mark with his tongue down Jungwoo’s throat, hoisted on the kitchen counters with jungwoo between his knees. Jungwoo’s perfectly styled wig was still situated atop his pretty head, curls shaking down his shoulders as he met Mark’s mouth. It felt like a nightmare, and the fairy wings on his back weren’t helping.

Donghyuck wanted to scream. That, and sucker punch Mark Lee in the guts.

But he did neither. Instead, in a split second of inspiration, he dropped to the floor and began to moan.

Immediately, the two startled apart, Mark jumping down from the counters when he recognized Donghyuck.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Mark asked, an arm around his shoulder, holding him up. Behind him, Jungwoo’s face was etched in concern and something that looked like clarity. 

“I don't know but I feel super sick, might have been the fruit punch,” Donghyuck warbled out, dry heaving as he clutched onto mark’s hands. Mentally thanking his prodigious talents (maybe he should aim for acting as a career after all), he looked up with teary eyes. “Can we go home?”

Donghyuck steeled himself, expecting protest, or even hesitation. Instead, mark’s arm was looping around his waist, tugging him onto his feet. “Let’s get you home, then,” Mark said, nodding at Jungwoo in apology.

If Donghyuck had any shred of a moral compass then, he would’ve felt bad. But he’d lost it all in an eight page essay on nineteenth century gothic literature started and completed the night before, so any inkling of remorse was drowned in the feeling of victory, humming through his skin as he let himself collapse into mark’s side.

Aptly, the event passed in Donghyuck’s mind not unlike a midsummer’s night dream. It’s not until the end of the year, in the midst of a teary-eyed party for the graduating seniors of the theater club, that he met it again, in the form of Jungwoo’s parting gift.

Donghyuck unwrapped the parcel, perplexed at the little tube of lip gloss that fell into his hands.

“For your boy problems, Hyuckie,” jungwoo winked, then enveloped him in a hug. “Use it wisely.”

So, he did.

 

☆

 

The tube he’s gripping onto now is not the sleek, peachy lip gloss Jungwoo had gifted him. Instead, it’s some abomination of cherry kool-aid impulse bought from a convenience store, a habit he’d picked up after getting used to feeling of gloss on his lips. 

He’s looked a mirror recently enough to know that he looks good with it on. Gorgeous, even, on a good day, when the sun warms him just right and the swell of his lips are dotted in glitter constellation. Donghyuck just has to hope he looks as good in the moonlight.

When he tiptoes into their room, Mark is lying on his side, facing the wall. The room is dark, save for the moonlight that washes in through the thin curtains. Ignoring the murmur of voices from the other room (and trusting that Renjun possessed enough brain cells to split between the three), Donghyuck crept forward, careful to not let the wood creak under his feet.

“What is this, national geographic?”

Donghyuck freezes, heart clattering in his chest, as the lamp switches on, bathing the room in a warm glow. Mark sits up in bed and squints at Donghyuck, hands roaming the sheets for his glasses. “What, were you trying to pounce on me? Strangle me in my sleep?”

“And I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for you meddling nerd,” Donghyuck sniffles, dropping himself onto the bed.

“I’ll try to be a better victim next time,” Mark promises. His eyes shine amber. “On one condition.”

“That is?”

He leans forward, that familiar and oh-so-irritating smirk working its way back to his lips. “Kiss me first.”

Blood rushes in Donghyuck’s ears, almost deafening. “If i must.”

Mark kisses like Donghyuck remembered-- kisses like soda, all bubble and syrup, kisses like he’s chasing down the fading edges of a sunset. He kisses like nostalgia, like a memory Donghyuck has held onto for years, lovingly folded into a crevice of his drawer to be discovered again. The lip gloss in saccharine on his tongue but it’s worth it when he pulls away and sees the sheen on Mark’s mouth, puffy and pink in the dim light.

“You’re so mean,” Donghyuck says later, when he’s nestled in Mark’s arms, a leg throw over his thigh. “I came over here to win you over, and yet you flipped a whole murder subplot on me. rude.”

Mark laughs, tucking Donghyuck under his chin. “You already won in the first place.” He taps his chest. “Right here.”

“Disgusting, I take it all back,” Donghyuck says, but he snuggles closer, holds on a little tighter. They lapse into silence, basking in the darkness.

“Are you going to miss me?” His voice is a whisper, and Donghyuck had barely registered when the words left his mouth, like it was picked from his tongue by the moonlight.

Mark frowns. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Massachusetts is really far away,” Donghyuck mumbles. “And who knows, you might find a cuter looking nerd to keep you up at night, someone who can talk sexy numbers to you or whatever.” He rattles this off casually, in the way one might the weather, but it doesn’t stop in aching, the growing question of what if that’s taken root in his brain months ago.

Mark’s hand slides to his cheek, cupping it. “But I have the cutest nerd here already?”

“I’m not a nerd,” Donghyuck pouts.

“Donghyuck, you’re going to the number one public university in America. Like it or not, you’re a nerd. Besides,” Mark says, pinching his cheek. “We can be nerds together.”

Glaring, Donghyuck yanks away Mark’s hand. “That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever said to me. Like, grosser than that time you explained Euler’s number to me during that one Skype call and I swear, half of my brain cells died—“

Mark shuts him up with another kiss.

 

☆

 

(“Oh shoot, I guess everyone’s at the beach,” Mark remarks, tilting his screen. They’re huddled underneath an umbrella, lying beside each other on a towel snagged from Renjun. Donghyuck squints at photos of a now chestnut blonde Jungwoo artistically positioned by the shore, comically large sunglasses perched on his face as he makes a come hither position at the camera.

“You follow him?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty funny, past that whole junior year crush thing. By the way, you remember that party?

“The cast party?” Donghyuck guesses, stomach already turning in dread.

Mark nods, grinning. “You’re a good actor and all but really, what kind of idiot did you think I was?” He jabs at Donghyuck’s side and laughs even harder when Donghyuck lets out a yelp.

“You knew I was faking it the whole time?”

“Don’t forget,” Mark says, nosing at Donghyuck’s neck. “I’m a genius. Especially when it comes to Donghyuck Lee.”)

**Author's Note:**

> *rises from my goblin bridge* hello! after almost a whole year, i've finally gotten around to writing this sequel! eek i'm nervous about this for a multitude of reasons but i suppose it was now or never T-T hope u guys enjoy <33
> 
> [concrit station](https://supremekermit.dreamwidth.org/278.html) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/haetelier) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/haetelier)


End file.
